


At your fingertips

by Blanquette



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blind Character, Blindness, Colors, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: "Changki soulmates AU where soulmates begin seeing colors when they meet each other, but one of them is blind and the other is too shy to say anything"From a request on the MX forumThis was translated into Russian by Ginger2.0!!





	At your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> First time I'm ever fulfilling a request, hope whoever requested it is not too disappointed :'D  
> So I guess this is slightly different than what I usually do, I always wanted to try the soulmate trope so I hope it works out.

1.

When the colors first spill into his vision, Changkyun doesn’t quite understand what’s happening to him. He has to sit down and close his eyes, because everything is suddenly too bright, too loud, too overwhelming. He knows what this means, but he’s too shaken to think about it. Eyes closed, he waits in the dark. Until he’s okay. Until he can carefully open his eyes, just a slip. He looks down at his hands and his skin is golden. There’s an angry splash of red over his knuckles, where they haven’t quite healed yet. He stares at them for a long time, before daring to raise his head.

He’s sitting on a campus bench, and in a few minutes, the comforting greys he’s always known dissolve and melt in a myriad of new colors. He knows their name. The grass is green and the sky is blue, the dirt brown, like the trees, and their leaves can be green, red, brown or yellow. When the sun sets there’s streaks of orange and the clouds go from white to pink. People are dressed in all black like him, or they chose colors like electric blues and deep purples, neon pinks and bright reds that would definitely offend him if they weren’t so amazing.

Changkyun cries, because he doesn’t know what else to do, faced with so much beauty.

 

2.

For Kihyun, the shadows don’t change. Nor do the lights that sometimes flicker in his eyes, electric signals that his brain desperately tries to interpret, to shape into something. Nothing changes, so Kihyun doesn’t know about the greys that would be melting into reds, greens and blues if only he could see them. He doesn’t know, so he doesn’t care.

He cares about sounds. About music, about feelings he could put into songs, maybe, if he was good enough. He practically lives in the music room, because there’s a piano there the teacher lets him use whenever he wants. Out of pity, maybe. He doesn’t care about that, either. He plays, until he cannot anymore.

 

3.

Changkyun understand who it is on the third day. And he understands he is doomed, too. There is no way he can just go up to the guy, announcing himself as his soulmate. There is no way the other will believe him. No way the other will want him. So instead of doing anything about it, he watches the blind boy from afar, and mopes.

“You want me to go tell him for you?”

“Do that and get ready to eat through a straw until you die.”

“They make great dentures nowadays, you know.”

He levels Minhyuk with a look and the other just shrugs, shoveling more food in his mouth. Until he swallows, allowing for more nonsense to get out.

“You’re sure it’s him?”

“Yeah. He was going out of the music room as I was going in and we kinda stumbled into each other. I apologized. And it all came on the way home. He’s the only new person I talked to.”

Changkyun doesn’t say that when he had run into him, the boy had stumbled back, and something had clattered to the floor. The boy had just stood there, head slightly hung, and Changkyun had tripped over his words to apologize. Something strange was spreading in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth, and there was electricity at his fingertips. Right then, even before the colors came in, he had sort of known.

He doesn’t say that the boy had asked if Changkyun could get his cane for him. That Changkyun had noticed the white walking stick on the ground, and his heart had sunk. The boy had thanked him with a small smile and went on his way, and Changkyun had stood there, an ache in his chest.

He doesn’t say that whenever he gets closer to the boy, the colors get more vibrant. That the boy feels familiar and safe. That all he wants is talk to him, fold himself into his side. He wonders if the guy feels the same. He wonders if the guy knows why, if he does. So he stays away purposefully, because he doesn’t want to freak him out.

“I mean, I don’t know why you make such a big deal out of him being blind. At least he can’t see your stupid face, that should be a bonus, right?”

Changkyun kicks him under the table and Minhyuk yelps, spitting out some rice in the process. He rubs his shin, grumbling.

“Can’t do anything about your shitty personality, though.”

“Hyung. A little support? It’s not the blindness that bothers me. It’s him being him and me being me.”

Minhyuk seems to think about it, scrunching up his face. He doesn’t swallow before talking, and Changkyun turns his gaze away.

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t want to date you, either. Hey, what’s it like, seeing colors?”

Changkyun looks at Minhyuk for a bit, pondering. It’s amazing, he wants to say. Everything is unbelievably beautiful. Especially the boy, all dark hair and smooth skin.

“I can see your shitty dye job. Can’t you wait until you actually see colors to try and massacre your hair?”

“I won’t wait until my soulmate finally decides to show-up to be stylish.”

Changkyun rolls his eyes, spooning all his rice on one side of the bowl to keep his hands occupied. The guy, his soulmate, is sitting with a tall, muscular man, and they’re laughing. It’s okay, he tells himself. It’s not dejection that he feels.

“You could, like, try to just talk to him before launching into anything. Become friends first.”

“What would that ever achieve.”

“You’ll get a new friend besides me, for once. Then you can grow a pair and tell him. How long are you stuck cleaning the music room?”

“Two more weeks.”

“Hey by the way, is my face still purple?”

It’s not, but Changkyun tells him that it is. The nasty bruise on Minhyuk’s cheekbone has faded, and so has the angry red on Changkyun’s knuckles. It’s like the fight never happened.

“Sorry I’m so good at running away and you’re so good at getting caught.”

“Why are we friends again?”

“Cause I’m the only one who would talk to the weird transfer student with sucky Korean.”

“Shut up, I got better.”

Changkyun goes to kick him under the table again, but this time Minhyuk deftly avoids it, scooting his chair back and standing up. He always leaves before Changkyun when they eat together, because despite hanging out with questionable people, Minhyuk has stupidly good grades, and usually spends the second half of his lunch period in the library. Changkyun tried going with him, once, and quickly realized he’d rather stay in the refectory to sullenly stare at people.

That’s what he’s doing now, boring holes in the back of Kihyun’s head. He’s a music major, Changkyun gathered that much. Here on a merit scholarship. Great hopes put in him. No time to spare for distractions. Especially not distractions in the form of scrawny first years that fight better than they study. Changkyun has nothing to offer his soulmate. He can’t tell him. He’s too scared, too afraid of rejection. So he stares, until Kihyun’s friend spots him, and he suddenly busies himself with gathering his things.

 

4.

It’s hard, staying away. Harder than he thought. They keep running into each other.

Kihyun is sitting at the piano. He’s not playing, not singing. He’s just there. Changkyun watches him from the door, not sure if he should go in or leave. So he just hovers, watching how the warm light of the late afternoon paints highlights in Kihyun’s hair, shadows on his skin. His palms are clammy. He wants to leave, but he stays.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“I can kind of hear you, you know.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Changkyun ponders just leaving. He doesn’t. Kihyun turned towards him, head slightly tilted. He seems to be waiting.

“You seemed… Really focused. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s okay. I’m not doing anything.”

“Okay. I just… I’m here to clean up a bit.”

There’s a sudden smile on Kihyun’s face, and it changes his aura so completely Changkyun is slightly taken aback. His sharp edges melt into a softness that tugs at Changkyun’s heart, and he wishes he was somewhere else.

“You’re that guy, aren’t you? You punched our club president.”

Changkyun cringes. Nods. Remembers Kihyun can’t see him.

“Yeah. I did. Sorry.”

“He probably had it coming, the guy is a bit of a dick. So you’re stuck cleaning, now?”

“Yeah. Sort of like community service. A deal to get the administration off my back.”

Kihyun nods, and the smile suddenly leaves his face.

“Do I… Do I know you? You feel familiar.”

Changkyun gets the broom he had left resting against the wall outside the room. He bites his lips, a heavy weight settling between his ribs.

“No. I just ran into you a couple days ago?”

“Oh. Maybe that’s it.”

Kihyun doesn’t sound nor look convinced, but he drops it, much to Changkyun’s relief. He turns back towards the piano, face set in a frown, and intently stares at the instrument. Changkyun goes to the back of the room, as far as he can from Kihyun, and start sweeping without much enthusiasm. Kihyun is tense, he can see it in the slope of his shoulders and the taut lines of his neck. His fingers itches to do something about it, to sink into silky black strands and unknot tense muscles. Instead, Changkyun grips his broom tighter and turns his back to the silent musician.

 

5.

They become sort of friends after that, much to Changkyun’s anguish. Kihyun is always there when Changkyun gets to the music room, broom in hand. Silently sitting at the piano bench. He never plays. He just sits there. Changkyun doesn’t ask why. He sweeps in silence, stealing glances at Kihyun now and then, until it gets too dark and he has to turn on the lights. That’s usually when Kihyun decides to leave, the piano untouched, his voice quiet.  

Changkyun notices small changes in him, over the two weeks they spend sharing silences. The boy seems thinner, somehow. Colors leak out of him until he looks ashen, sitting there staring at the piano. His smiles are strained, his edges dull. Changkyun doesn’t ask, until he does.

Kihyun doesn’t answer right away. He puts slender fingers to the piano, and draws out a small melody that never quite soar. He cuts it short, puts his hands on his knees. Changkyun takes a step towards him, stops short when the musician starts speaking.

“There’s something missing. I can’t explain it. But it hurts so much, in my chest. The music doesn’t sound right anymore. It falls flat. It’s losing its meaning. I don’t know. Maybe I said all I had to say, and there’s nothing left.” 

There’s an unbearable sadness to his words, a resignation that hurts Changkyun as much as it must Kihyun. That warm feeling in his chest turns to lead and sinks in his stomach, because he knows. Kihyun is so far from the truth.

“It’s not… That’s – that’s not it, hyung.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I think… I think it’s me.”

“Changkyun?”

Kihyun has turned around, towards Changkyun approximate direction, and he’s holding out his hand. Changkyun hesitates, considers stepping back. But Kihyun is reaching out, hands searching for him, and it seems too cruel to ignore him. So he takes Kihyun’s slender fingers in his and watches as his expression changes, his brow furrowing, mouth opening slightly. Kihyun’s cold hand warms in his, and there’s a feeling of deep relief spreading from Changkyun’s chest to his whole body.

“What… Who are you?”

Changkyun knows Kihyun feels it too, then. The deep sense of familiarity, the warmth, the electricity at his fingertips. The yearning. The love, too, maybe.

As he touches him the colors intensify, and Changkyun’s eyes almost water. The deep black of Kihyun’s hair has blue highlights where the light touches him, the pink of his lips almost too enticing, and Changkyun drops his eyes, looking at their hands, his own skin golden against Kihyun’s paler fingers. He turns away to look at the window, where the vibrant light of the late afternoon paints everything in a warm orange glow. It could be perfect, he thinks, if not for the anguish clawing at his insides.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kihyun’s voice is perfectly even, his voice that cannot sing anymore, because Changkyun was too selfish, too scared. He would prefer anger. Even tears. Anything else, other than the disappointment he sees etched on Kihyun’s features.

“I’m sorry. I thought… I didn’t dare. You looked like… I didn’t want to be a burden. You had everything figured out. I’m not… You know. We’re so different.”

Kihyun’s hand slips out of his, his head hangs low. He looks so fragile, like this. Changkyun reaches out, refrains from touching him at the last second.

“I’m sorry.”

“I always thought… I always thought my soulmate would have to be brave enough. Because I cannot see, so they would have to tell me first. They would have to be okay with me being what I am. It’s not easy, I know, it took me a while to accept living in shadows and spots of lights that will never mean anything more. But I thought they wouldn’t care, because we’re soulmate, after all.”

“I don’t… I don’t have a problem with you–”

“Then what is it? Is it because you think you’re worthless? Not good enough for me? That’s bullshit, and you know it too. If you aren’t, no one is.”

There’s anger now, and if Changkyun thought it would be better he’s wrong, so wrong. There’s desperation in Kihyun’s anger, a sadness he’s not quite sure how to handle.

“You didn’t think it was worth trying anyway?”

It’s almost pleading, and Changkyun crouches in front of Kihyun, takes back his hand in his.

“I just thought… You’d be better off not knowing.”

“I’m not, though. I’m really not. It feels like… something was ripped from my chest, and now there’s a gaping hole, and I don’t know how to fill it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Kihyun’s hand frees itself, but his fingers don’t leave Changkyun’s skin. He traces a path on his arm, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Soon he reaches his face, light fingers tracing his cheekbones, his nose, his lips. There’s a low fire in his chest, and Kihyun doesn’t cease his touching, hands tangling in Changkyun’s hair, falling to his shoulders, tracing his collarbones.

Changkyun closes his eyes, because the colors get to intense, and it’s better, like this, when all that reaches him in the darkness is Kihyun’s touch.

 

6.

“What’s it like, seeing colors?”

“It loses its hype, after a while.”

“Come on, Changkyun-ah, tell me. I won’t get sad or whatever it is you think I’m gonna do.”

“It’s… hard to explain. It’s beautiful. Warm. It’s even better when you’re with me.”

“Why?”

“It gets more intense. Sometimes it’s too much, so I have to close my eyes.”

“Like when?”

“Like when you kiss me.”

“Are you fishing for a kiss?”

“What if I am?”

“Come here, then. I’m too comfortable to move.”

 

 


End file.
